Chapter Text
Up in the loft of a trendy mid-town apartment, a beam of afternoon sunlight snuck through a hole in the blackout shades. It transformed ordinary dust into glitter, illuminated the gilded locks of a head buried in a fat feather pillow, and stabbed mercilessly into the eye of a sleeping vampire.
Mick St. John winced and grunted, shifting his head away from the beam, and the movement jostled Beth, who moaned and stretched luxuriously against him. Mick threw his arm over her and hauled her up onto his chest, and she smiled, snuggling down against bare skin. He dropped a kiss into her hair and whispered, “Sorry.”
“For what?” she mumbled.
“For waking you.”
Beth stretched again, eliciting a hum of appreciation from Mick as the action roused him much more pleasantly than the sunlight had done. She smiled sleepily up at him and propped her chin on her hands, blinking. “I needed to wake up anyway. Dating a vampire has its perks, but it’s playing hell with my sleep schedule.”
“Yeah?” Mick regarded her quizzically, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before he moved his hand down to stroke along her spine. “What kind of perks?”
“Well, for one thing, you never drink milk straight from the carton,” she mused, reaching a finger up to trace it over his mouth, “or splatter soup in the microwave. And for another thing,” she flattened his full lower lip, “the sex is fantastic.”
He grinned and caught her fingertip between his teeth, quirking an eyebrow playfully, and she laughed and squirmed her way up his torso to press a kiss to the scruffy underside of his jaw. “Maybe that’s not a vamp thing, though,” she murmured, as she freed her finger in order to comb through his mussed curls. “Maybe it’s just you.”
He gazed intently into her eyes for a moment, smoky grey to electric blue, then muttered, “God, I love you,” and crushed his lips to hers. Mouths opened, hands wandered, bodies shifted, and -- DING DONG!
They froze, Mick swore, and Beth grinned. “Don’t answer it,” she urged, her breath tickling a sensitized patch of skin. “Maybe they’ll go away.”
“No, I won’t,” called a chipper voice from outside the door, “but I’m happy to wait out here and check my stocks while you lovebirds finish up.”
Mick’s head fell back on the pillow, and Beth looked at him, halfway between amused and appalled. “Would he really?”
“Hell, no, he’s got a key. I’m surprised he hasn’t already let himself in.” Beth snorted and collapsed next to him. “He’s lucky he’s so charming,” she grumbled.
“Why, thank you, Beth,” Josef called as he opened the front door. “You’re quite a lovely morsel yourself.”
Mick and Beth scrambled for their clothes as Josef made his familiar way to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a Scotch. By the time they descended the loft stairs, hair and clothing in order but lips still swollen, Josef was comfortably settled in the black leather armchair. He tipped his glass to them in a mocking toast. “Ah, you crazy kids,” he said genially, “so sorry to disrupt your Afternoon Delight. Mick, I figured you’d be asleep at this hour.”
“I usually am. What the hell are you doing out and about?”
Josef leaned back and crossed an ankle over his Armani-clad knee, revealing a cranberry colored paisley sock that matched his tie. “Well, human CEOs generally prefer to conduct major transactions over a three-martini lunch, so I had to break out the SPF 80 today. It was worth it, though. Three martinis became five, and before the man knew it, he was signing an amazingly lucrative purchasing contract. Lucrative for me, of course.” He sipped his Scotch.
“And you’re drinking that on top of five martinis?” Beth asked, nonplussed.
“Me? No, I drank Bloody Virgin Marys at lunch. This is my post-signing victory libation.” He turned the glass in his hand, admiring the clarity of the liquor. “This stuff’s not bad, Mick.”
“Thanks. You gave it to me.”
“Figures.” He sipped again.
Mick went to the refrigerator to grab a bag of A-positive and some iced tea for Beth. “So, what are you doing here?” he asked pointedly.
“Ouch, Mick, since when does ‘fantastic sex’ excuse bad manners?” Beth flushed as she realized just how long Josef had been eavesdropping. “I came here to see my best buddy, and getting to ogle the missus is an unexpected bonus. You playing hooky, Beth? Told your editor you’re chasing down a ‘hot lead?’” Josef crooked his fingers into air quotes and grinned easily at her, his sunny expression and boyish face completely at odds with the stereotypical Creature of the Night.
Beth gulped her tea and replied, in a tone of rather forced casualness, “Actually, I’m between jobs at the moment. I gave my notice at BuzzWire several weeks ago.”
Mick chuckled, “If you could call it that.”
Beth hid her face behind her glass and refused to elaborate, so he continued, “The way I heard it, she stormed out in a blaze of glory after calling Grant a muck-raking fame whore who -- what was it? -- wouldn’t know credible journalism if it hijacked his hair gel.” Mick beamed fondly down at her.
“Oh, really?” Josef’s tone was light, but he gazed intently at Beth, and his warning from the incident with Dean Foster passed silently between them. As long as you’re involved with Mick, and you work at BuzzWire, his secret will always be in danger. Beth nodded tacit confirmation, and Josef raised his glass to her in a subtle salute. That’s my girl. Well, actually, she was Mick’s girl, but he was proud of her.
“Well then, seeing as you suddenly have so much free time, would you both like to join me this evening? Some up-and-coming theater producer has been after me to back his show. He’s giving an exclusive viewing of the first act to potential investors tonight at the old Burlesque Hall in Anaheim. You two want to get gussied up and be my entourage?”
Mick and Beth looked at each other in bemusement. They’d recently discussed the possibility of a theater date, and here was an unusual opportunity, Josef’s ego notwithstanding. They agreed to meet him later that evening at his apartment (where renovation from the firebombing was nearly complete), and from there they’d travel together in style to the theater. Beth kissed Mick good-bye so that she could go home and get ready, and Josef gallantly escorted her out to the street.
As Beth rummaged for her keys, Josef lounged against her car with insouciant grace, framing the edge of her personal space with one arm even has he maintained a scrupulously correct distance. She triumphantly raised the keys from the jumble in her purse, her smile softening to puzzlement as she met his eyes. Mick’s eyes were the proverbial windows to his soul, letting her read his emotions and passions like a well-beloved book. Josef’s, though, were often like a one-way mirror. No matter how intense his gaze, she could only perceive her own response to it.
“I know that wasn’t an easy decision to make,” Josef said.
“What,” she hedged, “going out for a night on the town?”
He gave Beth a look.
She sighed, then dropped her eyes and fiddled with the keys. “I loved that job, but I love Mick more. As decisions go, it was easy. Though I am finding it harder to figure out what to do next.”
“Do you want to stay in journalism?”
“I do, and I’ve sent copies of my portfolio to local and national networks all over the area. Also, I’ve gotten a rather interesting offer from the new ADA.”
“Talbot?” Josef’s eyes narrowed at this.
“Yeah, he called me up yesterday, offering to create a special position for me in the DA’s office as a PR coordinator and media liaison.”
“Sounds like it could be right up your alley.”
“It does, I know, but...” Beth trailed off, looking perturbed.
“Too many memories in the DA’s office?”
She met his eyes. “That, and Talbot gives me the creeps,” she stated flatly.
Josef looked thoughtful. “He does me, too.” Then he smiled and chucked her under the chin. “Keep your chin up, kiddo, I have no doubt that you’re going to land on your feet. I’ll see you at eight. Wear something fantastic.”
She rolled her eyes at him and got in the car, then waved as she drove off. Josef strolled down the shaded side of the street toward his Ferrari, pondering the various contacts who owed him favors among major news networks. Surely there was an opening somewhere respectable, somewhere that wouldn’t deign to report on pulp tabloid stories like aliens or vampires. He smiled as several options presented themselves, and he pulled out his Palm Pilot to make some notes.
**********
At 8:10, Beth knocked on Josef’s door. Mick answered, looking dapper and dangerous in a charcoal blazer and trousers with a shirt of midnight-blue silk. His eyes widened, and a smile lit his face as she stepped over the threshold. Beth was stunning in a crushed velvet sheath the color of dark caramel that nipped in gently at the waist before flowing down to her calves. An artfully tousled up-do showed off dangling gold and topaz earrings. Mick pulled her close and got a pleasant shock as his hand met bare skin -- thin, crossed spaghetti straps in back were the only fabric to touch her from shoulders to hips.
“You look delicious,” she whispered against his lips.
“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”
Josef emerged from the kitchen, drinks in hand, and paused to appreciate how beautiful they were, wrapped up in each other. He indulged in a short, melancholy trip down memory lane, then advanced, host’s smile in place as they broke apart. After he handed them their cocktails, he circled around Beth with predatory grace to admire her ensemble. His scrutiny lengthened and intensified, however, approaching the line between flattering and insulting, and Beth began to get annoyed.
“Do you want to check my teeth?” she asked, with an edge to her tone.
“Actually, I was checking for Mick’s teeth.”
Mick choked on his drink. Beth started in surprise as he sputtered, “Josef, for God’s sake, she’s not a freshie!”
“Well, no. She’s the new love of your life and all that, I get it. But don’t tell me you’re denying each other the pleasure?”
For a moment, there was only tense, awkward silence. Then:
“P-Pleasure?” Beth blurted, and Mick muttered something incoherent. Josef smirked, and color bloomed over her cheekbones. “I- I mean, I’m aware that feeding from a human is a very... personal act for the vampire, but...”
“Intimate,” Josef corrected her. “It’s a very intimate act, like sex. It’s contact, nurturing, an exchange of bodily fluids, potentially life-giving, and yes,” he smiled, devilment in his eyes, “very pleasurable for both parties, if the vamp has any finesse.”
Beth’s thoughts carried her along a well-worn track to that grimy bathtub in the desert. How many nights had she lain awake (next to Josh, no less), remembering the sensation of Mick’s mouth on her wrist? The pain, the panic... and the sensuality, creating desperate heat. She’d berated herself for being a sick puppy, but...
By now, Mick had regained his equilibrium. “And just like sex, it can mean different things in different circumstances,” he stated firmly, shooting Josef a quelling look. “There are one-night stands, there are quickies, or” he looked into Beth’s eyes, his tone gentling, “there’s consummation.”
Beth blinked and swallowed, moved and -- well -- darkly thrilled by what he implied. “I see,” she answered hoarsely. She cast about for something else to say. “So... I had wondered, with Simone. Freshies are kind of like friends with benefits then?” Josef barked laughter, and Mick nodded, smiling. “I guess you could say that, yeah.”
“Well, the best ones are,” Josef put in. “Some of them are just whores.”
Beth raised an eyebrow and gave them both a cool stare.
“Anyway,” Mick ground out, “I’m sure that’s a private decision Beth and I will come to when the time is right.”
Josef shook his head. “Puritanical Americans,” he sighed. “Next you’ll tell me it’s ordained for nourishment only.”
Mick’s mouth quirked. He knew for damn sure that wasn’t true, and his first tutor in such matters was the vampire in front of him. He didn’t think Beth was quite ready for that, though.
Meanwhile, she had turned a speculative gaze upon Josef. She had a question, he could tell, and he smiled, encouraging her.
“Did you ever feed from Sarah?”
The heavy shot glass in Josef’s hand cracked. His smile stayed fixed, but his eyes dulled. The silence stretched out for several long seconds.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asked lightly. Then he flipped open his cell phone and ordered his driver to bring the limo around.
*******
The ride to the theater was... strange. Tension buzzed in the car’s luxury interior, but Mick wasn’t sure what kind. Before they walked out of the apartment, Beth had laid a hand on Josef’s arm. He’d paused and looked down at her, polite but remote, and she’d raised up to brush a kiss on his cheek, apologizing with her eyes. His expression had thawed, and, lifting her hand from his arm, he’d kissed the back of her fingers with Old World courtliness before laying her hand in Mick’s.
Now Mick and Beth were sitting across from Josef as he regaled them with tales from his recent travels. Beth seemed to be attentive as she questioned him about Helsinki, but her hand... Mick hoped Josef couldn’t see what her hand was doing.
For that matter, he hoped Beth didn’t see what Josef’s leg was doing.
This was weird, and confusing, and -- okay -- quite stimulating, and Mick didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved when they pulled up to the theater. He escorted Beth to the lobby doors while Josef dismissed the driver, and for a moment he was still too flustered to notice that anything was off.
“Are we early?” Beth asked in confusion. The door was unlocked, but the lobby was dark.
“Not that early.” Josef came past them and approached the entrance to the auditorium, from which low light flickered. Foreboding prickled along Mick’s scalp as an unseen presence stirred familiar agitation within him. What? It couldn’t be...
“Hello? Are you Duchêne?” Josef advanced down one of the aisles as a figure leaped lightly from the stage. “The show doesn’t look ready to go on, here. Did I miss a memo?”
The figure advanced into a circle of light, revealing a young man who appeared to be in his late 20s. He was dressed somewhat eccentrically in a loose, embroidered linen tunic tucked into battered black jeans. Heavy, silver-toed boots encased his feet and lent weight to his arrogant stance. Long, blue-streaked blond hair was caught back in a low ponytail. His face was sharp, with a long, aristocratic nose and jutting cheekbones. His blue eyes were ancient.
“Josef Kostan,” he said, with a heavy French accent, “I am Christophe Duchêne. At last we meet. Lance speaks most highly of you.”
Josef felt his hackles rising. “Does he now?” Oh, this was bad.
“Ah, oui. He assures me that you will be most difficult to kill. I myself am not convinced, as luring you here was mere child’s play. But who are your charming friends?”
“The other vampire is Coraline’s get, the one who has caused such problems,” came a cold voice, and Lance emerged from behind the curtain at stage right. “I believe the human is his companion, and it must be assumed that she has knowledge of the compound.”
“Little Beth,” crooned Coraline from the balcony, “of course she knows. She and Mick have become so very clossse!” she hissed the last word.
“But this is wonderful!” exclaimed Christophe with sincere, insane delight. “We can complete our mission and carry out Coraline’s punishment in one grand execution. Assuming that Cécile and Luc have dispatched all of her little laboratory rats, we can be home tout de suite. This climate does not agree with me at all.” He glared at Josef as if he held him personally responsible for sunshine and smog.